


Broken Trust, Renewed Faith

by LucRambles



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canonical Child Abuse, Exes to Lovers, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Cheating, Past Child Abuse, Trans Felix Hugo Fraldarius, it gets worse before it gets better but they'll be happy i swear
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-22
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:00:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23781238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LucRambles/pseuds/LucRambles
Summary: In Sylvain's senior year of high school, Felix cut him off. For good. With good reason, too—years later, Sylvain hasn't really forgiven himself either.After a rough five years, Sylvain enrolls at an art school in the small town of Garreg Mach, ready for a new start. Unfortunately, the past has a way of catching up—now, Sylvain is reconnecting with old friends and digging up old memories.Felix says it's fine—it'sfine,they were in high school, what does it matter now? But it's not fine, it's really,really,not fine.And the worst part? Felix doesn't even know what really happened, but Sylvain is sure the truth will hurt more than the lie.Or, the one in which Sylvain and Felix had a bad breakup in high school, and run into each other years later in college. Both are still head-over-heels, but unveiling the truth and rebuilding shattered trust are easier said than done.[Rating subject to change]
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 12
Kudos: 86





	1. An Unexpected Reunion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright here we go, my first multi-chapter fanfic in like....... seven years. Woo. Let's see how this works out.  
> So I saw a tweet by @hekxate and the sylvix, angst, and eventual happy ending brainworms took over and I did this instead of writing a research paper.  
> Just a head's up: _it gets worse before it gets better._ don't let the first chapter fool you. Tags will be added as the fic progresses, our boys are gonna have a Bad Time before they work through stuff but they WILL be happy because they!!!! love!!!! each!!! other!!! so!!! much!!!!  
> Anyway, hope you enjoy!

This whole thing is Dimitri’s fault.

Actually, that’s not fair—it’s Sylvain’s fault, and Sylvain _knows_ it’s his fault. But, for the moment, he’s going to blame Dimitri for the scene that is certainly going to erupt in this café any second now. Because Dimitri somehow got through high school and some college without any social intelligence, like, at all.

**~*~**

Sylvain had moved to the town of Garreg Mach because it was halfway across the country, and he needed to get away from home like a starving man needed food. The town is so small even his Father will have trouble finding it when he inevitably tries to hunt Sylvain down. And it’s on the edge of The Middle of Nowhere—there’s actually _wildlife_ up here; it’s a far cry from the busy streets of Fhirdiad. But at the same time, it’s not so out-of-the-way that he has to drive thirty minutes to get groceries. The summers are bearable, and the winters are chilly enough to remind him of home. Overall, Sylvain thought it was a nice place to settle down after the havoc of the last few years.

The best part about Garreg Mach: there isn’t anyone out here who knew him before—who knew his history, who he was, who his family was, or who he had been. He could get a fresh start, maybe not be as much of a flaming piece of sh—

No—no self-deprecating talk. If he’s going to get better, he has to stop the negative self-talk. So, let’s try that again—he could get a fresh start, be a better person than he used to be, someone he could have been years ago if he hadn’t grown up the way he had. Past Sylvain hadn’t been a great person, but Current Sylvain could be. He _wants_ to be.

Unfortunately, the past isn’t so easy to outrun.

**~*~**

“Excuse me, is this seat taken?”

Sylvain was sitting in his first class of the semester, newly enrolled in Garreg Mach U’s School of Fine Arts. Class wasn’t due to start for another five minutes, and students were steadily trickling in. He half looked up from his phone, not even popping out one of his AirPods, and caught a glimpse of a brick wall in a navy blue GMU hoodie, gesturing to the empty desk beside Sylvain. “I don’t think so. Go for it, man.”

“Thank you,” the wall responded.

The formal manner of speech should have tipped him off, but Sylvain had finally started feeling like he had dropped off the map—new town, new apartment, new school, new major, new phone number, new _everything._ After over a year, he’d finally stopped thinking _oh_ _Goddess they found me_ every time he saw something that reminded him of home. No more anxiety attacks at the sight of a broad redhead in the supermarket, or the flash of a blonde braid disappearing around a corner, or when he heard a voice that he could have _sworn_ was someone else’s. So, he didn’t glance twice at his polite desk-neighbor in Foundations in Art History. Not even when he noticed Mr. Brick Wall glance at him more than once.

Dr. Casagranda— _but call me Manuela, no need to be so formal—_ didn’t call roll. Instead, she passed around a sheet of loose-leaf paper and asked everyone to write their names. Alright, saves a few minutes.

The paper made its way to Sylvain from his left. So after signing “Sylvain Jose” (he went to great pains to make sure that, as far as administration was concerned, “Jose” was his surname) he passed the paper to Mr. Brick Wall on his right. From the corner of his eye he saw the man pick up his pen, then freeze. He raised his head to stare at Sylvain, and only looked away when the redhead glanced up, quirking an eyebrow. He hastily finished signing, then passed the paper along.

The rest of class was uneventful—Manuela went over the syllabus, ran through a short introductory PowerPoint, then let them go a half hour early. The ten minutes after, however…

“Sylvain!” Mr. Brick Wall’s deep voice called.

Sylvain stopped just outside the classroom door. “Yeah? What’s up?”

“Sylvain Gautier?”

Looking back, Sylvain is surprised he didn’t throw up on the floor right then and there. Or pass out. Or maybe hyperventilate. Or all three in any given order.

He _did,_ however, for a solid ten seconds, consider sprinting to his car, dropping out, legally changing his name, and moving to another country. But he ultimately decided that was a little extreme. Just a little. Tiny bit.

He tried to play it off, turning around and rubbing the back of his neck. He gripped the strap of his messenger bag tight with his free hand to ground himself. “Gautier? You mean like that company in Fhirdiad? I wish—” 

That’s when he finally looked at Mr. Brick Wall’s face. 

“Wait. Wait, wait, I—holy _shit?”_

“Hello, Sylvain.”

Standing in front of him was one of his friends from childhood, Dimitri Blaiddyd. He looked different than he had last time Sylvain had seen him. He’d gotten a good half foot taller—Sylvain used to be able to rest his elbow on top of Dimitri’s head. Now, the blonde was as tall— _slightly taller?—_ than him. His hair had grown out, nearly brushing his shoulders, and falling in his face. He’d bulked up, and he wore a black patch over his right eye— _when the hell did that happen?_ But, looking at his face, it was undoubtedly Dimitri.

“Dimitri. H-hi,” Sylvain managed.

“It’s… been quite some time,” Dimitri said.

“I, uh, yeah I… I guess it has.” Sylvain had no idea how to react. Maybe he was just having a nightmare? Yeah, nightmare maybe, worst-case scenario on the first day, right? But no, the acid bubbling up in his throat was too real for him to be dreaming.

“Oh, I am sorry if I surprised you. When I entered the room, I thought you seemed familiar, and then I saw your name on the attendance sheet. I didn’t mean to snoop, but—"

“What are you doing here?” Sylvain blurted out, completely bypassing his nearly non-existent brain-to-mouth filer. He’d known Dimitri to be an honest person, but he couldn’t ignore thoughts of his Father sending people to find him, finding out Sylvain was at GMU and sending Dimitri there to confirm it. To find Sylvain and drag him back kicking and screaming—

“I go to school here,” Dimitri said. “This is my second year. Garreg Mach has a very good history program, and the town is very nice. It’s… quiet. Peaceful. Nice. But, ah, what about you, Sylvain? I thought you were still at school in northern Fhirdiad?”

Truthfully, Sylvain had dropped out of his last school about two years ago. He hadn’t wanted to study _business marketing_ to begin with, but his Father had insisted, and no one who valued their existence argued with Sylvain’s Father. “I studied there for a bit, yeah. But, uh…” He took a deep breath before saying, “I don’t want to talk about that.”

In the past, Sylvain would have cracked some joke or other, brushing off concerns about his home life. By now, Sylvain has started to get out of that habit, working on not shrugging that off so easily and not downplaying his past. But he also didn’t _have_ to tell Dimitri what happened. He was allowed to have privacy and establish emotional boundaries. He was still working on that.

Thankfully, Dimitri didn’t pry. “What are you studying now, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Art. I was… looking for a change of pace.”

Dimitri nodded. “I understand that. I changed my major as well when I transferred. My uncle was surprised I was going to move so far away.”

Sylvain should have asked then if anyone else they knew was here too—someone _must_ have followed Dimitri. But Sylvain was a dumb— _Sylvain was in a stressful situation_ and didn’t think to ask.

Another nervous chuckle. “Yeah, heh, my Father didn’t exactly want me to leave either…” he brushed aside memories of more than one shouting match, the aftermaths, _Him,_ and finally…

Dimitri looked at him for a moment, expression unreadable. He seemed like he wanted to say something else but thought better of it and changed tracks. “I am glad I ran into you, Sylvain. I’ve missed you the last few years. Would you like to meet up later for lunch and catch up?”

The rational (panicked?) part of Sylvain wanted to turn down his offer and hope Dimitri wouldn’t keep reaching out during the semester. He could drop the class, take it in the spring or switch sections and hope he could avoid his old friend until one of them transferred or graduated. But the anxious (rational? Hopeful? Touch-starved?) part of him remembered Dimitri’s old wounded puppy-dog face, and saints above he did _not_ want to see that anymore. And truthfully, Sylvain had missed him too. He understood why they lost contact, but it wouldn’t be terrible to catch up—how bad could it be? Of all his old friends, Dimitri was the least likely to hold a grudge against him.

“Alright. I have class in an hour, but I’m out at one forty-five.”

Dimitri _beamed;_ a smile Sylvain hadn’t seen for years before he left town. He felt some kind of emotion bubble up in his chest and offered a small smile in return.

“Wonderful! There’s a little café on the east side of campus, near the big clocktower. It’s usually not as crowded as Starbucks is, would you like to meet there at two?”

“Alright, sounds like a plan. I’ll see you later.”

**~*~**

Sylvain signs his death warrant the moment he steps into the café.

He spots Dimitri right away at a table by one of the windows, his newfound bulk easy to see across the room. It looks like he’s already ordered food, but he seems to be ripping his donut apart more than actually eating it. Two other people are already there with him—a blonde woman beside him, and a dark-haired person across from him with their back to Sylvain. The woman is flipping through flashcards, pausing only to grab another pastry from a bag at her side. The other person, judging by their posture, is likely scrolling through their phone.

Dimitri sees him first, smiling brightly and waving him over. The woman beside him looks up while reaching for the bag again and nearly knocks it over in surprise. Her green eyes look like they’re going to pop out of her skull, and Sylvain sees her mouth move but doesn’t hear what she says. The other person turns around to look and Sylvain thinks he’s about to meet the Goddess. _Well, I had a good run,_ he thinks.

The man’s eyes widen in shock for a moment, then narrow into a glare. Amber eyes meet Sylvain’s own, unblinking, unflinching. The redhead can see the man’s jaw tighten from across the room, as well as one hand clenching into a fist against his thigh.

Despite how murderous he looks, Sylvain can’t help but think _oh no, he got prettier._

He’s lost some of the baby fat that had stubbornly clung to him during high school. However, the slimmer look and his glare do nothing to harden his face (at least to Sylvain). Despite a smattering of acne scars, his skin still looks soft and smooth. Sylvain remembers how it felt under his palms once upon a time, when he was able to cradle that face and kiss it wherever and whenever he wanted (and Goddess, he wanted to kiss every inch of him). He’s gone from wearing his hair in a bun to a shaggy ponytail, and his bangs look like he’d cut them with a knife (he probably had—wouldn’t be the first time). Sylvain can’t help but remember how soft it had been, how soothing it was to run his hands through the silky dark locks. How those visibly tensed muscles would relax as he melted against Sylvain, practically purring under the attention, and fitting so perfectly against him. How those pale brown eyes had looked at him with so much _love_ and _adoration,_ Sylvain almost can’t take it.

Sitting across from Dimitri is their mutual old friend—Felix Hugo Fraldarius: fencing prodigy, black belt in judo, proud owner of an extensive antique sword collection, and certified Angry Gremlin who preferred to fight his problems if he couldn’t ignore them.

He's also Sylvain’s ex-boyfriend. The pair haven’t spoken since the breakup—it wasn’t long after that he fell out of touch with Ingrid and Dimitri too—and Sylvain is still surprised Felix simply cut him off without ripping his dick off first (small miracles?). Sylvain doesn’t blame him though—he hurt Felix, bad, and it was all Sylvain’s fault (no negative self-talk here—just facts).

Sylvain is frozen like a deer in the headlights, unable to break Felix’s stare. He can’t make himself approach—not with Felix sitting _right there, staring at him,_ but he can’t make himself leave either because Felix is sitting _right there, staring at him._

Dimitri steps in, thank the Goddess, and calls Sylvain over. Felix scowls and turns back to the table, freeing Sylvain from whatever spell had pinned him to the spot. He walks over, but still hangs back a few feet. “H-hey Dimitri. You uh, didn’t tell me that uh…”

“What the fuck.”

Surprisingly, the expletive does not come from Felix. Instead, the blonde beside Dimitri is staring at him just as intensely as Felix had been.

“Hey Ingrid. Been a while, yeah?”

“It’s been _five years."_

“That it has,” Sylvain says.

This is the part where someone should ask, “damn Sylvain, why did you vanish for _five whole years?_ ” But they all know why they stopped talking to each other—why they stopped talking to _Sylvain_ —but no one wants to say it.

“Dimitri,” Felix speaks up. His elbows are propped up on the table, fingers laced together in front of his face. He stares straight ahead, not lifting his eyes to Sylvain again. “What layer of hell did you drag _that_ out of?”

Both men ignore the jab. “Sylvain is in my Foundations in Art History class; I saw him this morning. It’s been so long, I thought it would be nice to reconnect. It’s such a coincidence that he goes to school here as well.”

The group is silent for a moment. Sylvain is the elephant in the room, and he can tell he’s not welcome. Dimitri’s so good natured and trying his best, but sometimes things just don’t work out. Five years isn’t long enough to gloss over what he did. “Look, I can tell I just made things weird, I should—”

“Stay, please,” Dimitri interjects. “It’s been so long—it will be nice to catch up, won’t it?” He looks to Ingrid for help.

“It… I wouldn’t mind catching up. It was… quiet, after you left,” she says, a little unsure.

Sylvain’s gaze flicks down to Felix, who still hasn’t moved. Dimitri and Ingrid turn to him as well, and he sighs. “I see I’m already out-voted. If you guys want to get all chummy again, I’m not going to stop you.”

“Are you sure—?” Ingrid starts.

“It’s fine,” Felix says, his tone booking no argument.

“Felix…” Sylvain starts, but doesn’t know how to continue.

“I said it’s _fine,"_ Felix says, and finally turns to look at Sylvain again. “We all know what you did, but we were in high school. It happened, it’s done, I’m over it, it’s in the past. I have more important things to worry about.” His gaze leaves Sylvain long enough to check his phone, then: “Like the fact that I’m late for my workout.” To Ingrid and Dimitri: "Sorry to cut this short, I’ll see you around.”

Without waiting for a reply, Felix scoops up a black duffel bag from under the table, pockets his phone, and leaves the café. He doesn’t spare Sylvain a second glance.

The remaining three fall silent for a few moments.

“Well," Sylvain says, "that’s a million times better than I expected."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Kudos and comments are always welcome!  
> I don't know how often I'll be updating, but definitely don't expect regular ones until May. Writing about college students is much more fun than being one.


	2. The Past Rears its Ugly (Handsome) Face

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felix burns off some energy and denies some feelings. Sylvain, Dimitri, and Ingrid catch up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: I want to make felix trans bc like, how can he not be, but that would also add like ten more layers to his and sylvains breakup  
> Also me: your au your rules  
> me: YOU'RE RIGHT transphobia doesn't exist in this world bc I said so
> 
> Anyway! Semester's over so I have more time to work on this. I'm hoping I can get most of it done during the summer, but we'll see how this goes.

Felix totally isn’t furious at seeing Sylvain again.

He’s not—he’s _not,_ he’s really, really not. Not mad at all. Because he hasn’t seen or spoken to Sylvain in five years, and five years is long enough to stop caring about something stupid that happened in _sophomore year of high school._ And honestly, what _didn’t_ suck sophomore year? Everything is terrible when you’re fifteen, that’s just how life works. 

So, it makes sense that Felix had only been fifteen for two months before one of his oldest, deepest friendships was destroyed. Dating Sylvain, trusting him the way he had, was the biggest mistake of Felix’s life.

But he doesn’t want to think about that right now. He wants to go maim a punching bag and definitely _not_ pretend it’s Sylvain’s face.

Duffel bag over one shoulder, he storms past Sylvain and out of the cafe, refusing to even look at him. Okay, so maybe the sight of his dumb face made Felix a _little_ angry, just a little. Maybe Felix had hoped that Sylvain would lose his good looks after high school. Get a bad haircut or go bald early or break out worse than Felix used to or _something._ But no, the bastard just got more handsome. A crime against humanity, truly.

He’s cooled off a bit by the time he reaches the campus gym around ten minutes later. Now that classes have officially started, the building is back to its regular 7am-10pm hours. Despite that, the locker room is a ghost town when Felix walks in. Better for him, he’d never liked changing in front of other people, even after he got rid of his tits.

He bypasses the main gym—cardio and weight machines, and almost as empty as the locker room—and makes a beeline for a smaller room off to the side. Blue mats line the floor wall-to-wall, and a few punching bags hang along the far wall. The room stinks of sweat and B.O., but Felix has been wrestling since high school. He’s long used to it.

Two other guys are already there, a big beefy guy holding one of the bags while a smaller man practices his punches. Both look up when Felix enters. 

“Hey Felix!” Caspar calls and waves. “Good to see you again! How was your summer?”

“Could’ve been worse,” Felix says. “Glad to be back, honestly. I can only stand my old man and my brother for so long before I lose my mind. But I’m not really up for conversation right now. Either of you want to spar?”

“Oh _hell yeah!”_ Caspar crows. “I’ve been itching for a good fight. You just wanna run some drills?” 

Felix shakes his head. “No, I need to burn off some energy.”

Caspar raises an eyebrow, but smiles. “Straight up brawl then?”

“Something like that, yeah. Use whatever fighting style you want, but the point still goes to whoever gets the pin.”

“Works for me.” He then turns to Raphael, “Hey Raph, you mind reffing?”

“Not at all!” Raphael says. “Just as long as I get to fight the winner.”

“You can certainly try. But enough talk.” Felix puts in his mouth guard. “Le’s goh.”

He and Caspar end up going for four rounds, each one refusing to accept his hair’s-breadth loss to the other. Felix goes harder than he probably should—he’s not _trying_ to hurt Caspar. He just keeps thinking of stupid Sylvain and his stupid handsome face, and he _needs_ to burn off the energy building up. Otherwise, he’ll explode somewhere he shouldn’t, and he doesn’t want to do that.

Felix eventually gets the last round, slamming Caspar so hard against the mat he nearly messes up the guy’s shoulder.

“I think that’s enough for me,” Caspar says, rubbing the joint in question. “Don’t get me wrong—I’m not giving up, but I’m not looking to get benched this season.”

Felix takes out his mouth guard to speak. “Hey, you got a few months to recover.”

“Damn, was that a joke?”

Felix just laughs while he cracks his neck. “I suppose so. Sorry about that though, I didn’t mean to throw you so hard.”

“S’cool. No harm, no foul.”

Felix turns to Raphael. “You still up for a round?”

He goes two more rounds with Raphael. He’s twice Felix’s size and in a _completely_ different weight class, but he likes fighting bigger opponents. It makes the fight more interesting, since he can’t rely on his strength—not that he really does to begin with. Felix has always been a good grappler. And anyone who's gone more than a couple rounds with him knows to watch their kneecaps. 

“Hey, Felix, why don’t you take a breather? You look pretty wiped out,” Raphael says.

“I’m fine,” Felix says, trying to hide how heavy he’s breathing. He takes the hand Raphael offers him and lets the larger man yank him back to his feet. 

“No you’re not, dude,” Caspar says. “Here, at least take a drink and sit for a few.”

Felix catches the water bottle Caspar tosses at him and downs half of it in one go. He immediately regrets it when his stomach starts to churn. Deciding to cut his losses, he sits against one of the walls and finishes his drink at a much slower pace, focusing on evening out his breathing. 

“What’s got you so worked up today anyway? Been a while since I’ve seen you like this.” Caspar asks. 

Felix just shakes his head. “I don’t want to talk about it. It’s… it’s a long story and I don’t feel like getting into it.”

After a few “are you sure?”s and “we’re here if you want to talk”s, Caspar and Raphael drop the subject. Once he’s ready to go again, Felix practices some moves with the other two for another hour before deciding he should probably stop, even though he wants to go until he collapses.

He ends up wandering around campus for a while. He can’t stay in the gym any longer or he’ll end up running himself ragged. He doesn’t want to go back to his dorm either—Dimitri is most likely there, waiting for Felix to come back. Probably wants to talk about what happened back at the cafe. The thing is: anything Sylvain-related is, and has been, at the bottom of Felix’s to-do list. Slowly pulling out every single one of his nails with a pair of tweezers is higher. He knows he’ll need to confront this eventually, but “eventually” is not “now.” 

~*~

_“What do you have to say for yourself?”_

_“...”_

_“Say something. Say something, anything, answer me!”_

_“I’m sorry?”_

_“Are you?”_

~*~

“That was _better_ than you expected?” Dimitri asks.

“Oh much,” Sylvain says. “I was expecting to lose some very important limbs if I ever saw him again, to be honest.” He makes a point to cross his legs when he sits down.

Ingrid rolls her eyes. “I see you haven’t changed.”

That stings; Sylvain represses a wince. He likes to think he _has_ changed over the last five years—he’s worked hard at it, but Ingrid and Dimitri don’t know that. The last time the three of them spoke was shortly after Sylvain’s graduation—really just him telling them where he was going to school in the fall, and wishing them luck with their junior year. He doesn’t know if Felix convinced them to stop talking to him, or if the breakup had pushed them so far away as well.

But that’s a conversation for another time.

“I don’t know, five years is a long time,” Sylvain says. “What have you guys been up to?”

“Ah, same-old same-old I suppose. I went to Faerghus Tech for two years, transferred here last fall,” Ingrid says.

“I transferred last fall as well,” Dimitri says. “I studied political science for a year, then came here for history.”

Sylvain notices Dimitri’s missing a year of school there, but decides not to ask. It’s too soon, he feels. “This is my first semester here. I can’t believe I never knew you guys were around here.”

Dimitri, with his entire one (1) wisdom says, “Your father never said anything? I’m sure Rodrigue or my uncle mentioned it to him at some point.”

Sylvain tries not to tense. “I haven’t spoken to my Father in a little over two years.”

There’s a beat of awkward silence. Sylvain decides to keep talking, slipping briefly into his old flippant facade. “You remember how he is. Decided to move out around my twenty-first, ended up out here. Last year I started thinking about taking a shot at college again, and I heard some pretty good things about GMU.” 

It’s not the whole story, not even close, and he can tell that Dimitri and Ingrid know. There’s no way in hell Sylvain simply “moved out,” especially if he ended up at an art school in bumfuck nowhere, but neither comments. Instead, they jump on the topic change.

“What are you studying?” Ingrid asks. “I’m in culinary arts, myself.”

Sylvain’s smile and little laugh are genuine. “I’m not surprised you ended up studying food. I can see you have as much of an appetite as ever.”

That gets a chuckle from Dimitri and an amused huff from Ingrid. “Might as well study what I enjoy,” she says.

“I’m here for art. Focus on painting and digital art. A friend of mine convinced me to try minoring in creative writing, but honestly she’s much better at it. But hey, we’ll see how it goes.”

The three have a very pleasant conversation, despite a few awkward hiccups—mostly when Felix is brought up. Sylvain eventually tells them not to beat around the bush—he knows Felix is here, he knows the three of them have stayed in contact, and he knows they didn’t exactly leave off on the right foot. They’re not going to get anywhere if they keep dancing around him.

It flows better after that. Sylvain tells them he’s been living in the area, and recently got his own apartment—he’d been sharing a place with a few other guys before that. Dimitri talks a little more about his time at Fhirdiad U. Ingrid got her associate’s in computer science at Faerghus Tech, before deciding to follow her heart instead of money. Both of them heard about GMU from Felix, who is starting his _third year_. 

“ _Three years?”_ Sylvain asks, unable to stop his voice from rising an octave. “Or, two I guess—he’s been out here as long as I have?”

He can’t tell what emotion washes over him at that moment, knowing that at any point in the last _two years_ he could have run into Felix. That mere chance kept them skirting around each other.

What would he have done if they had run into each other? If he caught a glance of that dark ponytail passing an aisle in the store while Sylvain was stocking? If he heard that sweet tenor from the line at the register behind him? If one Monday night he’d walked into his beginner’s painting workshop and seen that lean figure seated at an easel? What would he have done? What would _Felix_ have done? 

Sylvain doesn’t know, and he doesn’t want to think too much about it. 

“It seems so,” Dimitri says. “And you never saw each other?”

“I definitely never saw Felix, and I’m pretty sure you guys would know if he saw me. Goddess, he must go out about as often as he used to—I work in a supermarket downtown.”

“Well, ah, Felix was never one for going out much,” Ingrid says, and gives a small, awkward laugh. “I’m pretty sure he almost never leaves campus to begin with; he doesn’t really need to. Every couple of weeks he’ll go to the convenience store a few blocks from here for snacks and anything else he needs, but that’s it.”

“Oh!” Dimitri pulls out his phone. “Thank you for reminding me, actually, he needs to buy laundry detergent.”

“Didn’t he just buy some?” Ingrid asks.

Dimitri gives her a blank look. “He did. And then he used it. And I sleep in the same room as him and his gym bag.”

“Fair.”

“Still a little gym rat, I see,” Sylvain says.

Ingrid startles slightly, as if she’d momentarily forgotten Sylvain was there. “You don’t know the half of it,” she says. 

“Does he still wrestle? He must still fence, at least.”

“Of course. You think he’d ever stop swinging swords around?”

“If he’s not playing with swords, he’s not Felix.”

“He does still wrestle,” Dimitri chimes in. “He is on the school team, if I recall.”

Sylvain gives a low whistle. “Adding to his trophy collection?”

“He’s still more proud of his sword collection, really,” Ingrid tells him. She then seems to realize something, and shoots a quick glance at Dimitri.

“I remember the sword collection,” Sylvain interrupts. “So, it sounds like he hasn’t changed much either.”

“Well, it _has_ been five years,” Ingrid says, mimicking his earlier words.

Sylvain lets out a short laugh. “True, true.”

The conversation stays light for a while, and the three exchange phone numbers. Ingrid leaves to grab a few more snacks before going back to her room. When Dimitri tries to leave, Sylvain calls him back.

“What is it?” Dimitri asks.

“Listen… it’s great to see you and Ingrid again—it really is, I missed you guys—but uh… just, be careful with Felix, okay?” Sylvain says. “I… I can tell he wasn’t exactly… _happy_ to see me, especially without warning.”

Dimitri frowns. “Felix has said he is ‘over it’,” he uses air quotes, “and he hasn’t spoken about you in quite some time. I didn’t realize he would be quite as… upset as he was.”

No social intelligence present at all. Dimitri is incredibly book smart, and can offer pretty good insight on situations he’s not a part of, but dear Sothis he’s a dumbass when it comes to interpersonal relationships. He’s too literal, too honest (at least some things haven’t changed).

“You know how Felix can be,” is what Sylvain says. “Maybe seeing me stirred up some old feelings? I don’t know, but I wouldn’t recommend putting us in the same room again. Not anytime soon, anyway. And _especially_ without warning.”

Dimitri frowns. “I… suppose you are right. I do want us all to speak to each other again, but I also understand why Felix is reluctant.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I know,” Sylvain says, nodding. “Oh, and Dimitri—one more thing, and this is really important, okay?”

The blonde’s eyes widen a fraction and he nods. Sylvain takes a step closer and lowers his voice. “No one out here knows anything about my past.. I came out here to…” he takes a deep breath. “I wanted to—I _needed—_ to start over. And tell Ingrid too—if you’re talking about me, or if someone asks about me, _do not_ tell them anything. As far as anyone here is concerned, my full name is Sylvain Jose. I grew up somewhere in Faerghus, and I turned up here a couple of years ago. That’s all you know about me, okay?”

Dimitri nods slowly, his face serious. “Of course.”

“Don’t even mention me to your uncle or to Felix’s dad, or even Glenn or your step-sister, okay?” _My Father can’t know I’m here,_ remains unspoken.

Dimitri seems to understand though, and nods again. “Of course. My lips are sealed,” He mimes zipping his mouth closed, locking it, and throwing away the key. Sylvain can’t help a snort of laughter. 

“Should I tell Felix as well?” Dimitri asks. “You said to inform Ingrid.”

Sylvain hesitates, then: “I don’t think he’s going to say anything. I have a few friends who go here, so if Felix was talking about me, I think they would have connected the dots by now. But if he says anything, yeah, ask him to keep quiet.”

Dimitri nods again. “Of course, of course.”

“Thanks,” Sylvain says. He releases Dimitri’s wrist, not realizing until that moment that he was still holding on. “I’ll see you on Friday I guess? In art one-oh-one?”

The solemn mask drops and Dimitri smiles again. “Yes! I will see you then.”

It’s not until Sylvain is alone in his apartment, with the door locked behind him, that he’s able to reflect on the day.

He’s going to wake up in the morning and think this was all a dream. It should be impossible—Dimitri, Ingrid, _and_ Felix? All in the same town in the middle of nowhere, far from Faerghus, from Fhirdiad, and at a _fine arts school_ no less? It should be impossible, but here they all are.

And Felix.

_Felix._

Felix is here in Garreg Mach. He has been for the last few years, and he and Sylvain never crossed paths until Dimitri brought them both to that cafe this afternoon. And Felix, despite whatever he’s said to Dimitri and Ingrid about being ‘over it’, is still as angry as he was five years ago. 

Sylvain, for a second time, briefly plots his potential escape. He’s spent the last couple of years cutting every tie he had to his old life, starting up a new one where he was sure no one would find him. Away from the people he hurt and the ones who hurt him. The presence of his childhood friends could unravel that in an instant. 

He wants a drink. Dear fucking Sothis _above_ he wants a drink.

He pulls out his phone instead. It picks up on the second ring. _“Sylvain? What’s up?”_

“Hey Claude, you home? I think I need a babysitter tonight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My friend: How did all of them end up at the same school in the middle of bumfuck nowhere?  
> Me: the power of fanfiction and queer kids running off to art school.


	3. Blink I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (See notes for content warnings)
> 
> Blink: A short look at the past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Depictions of alcoholism/alcohol abuse, unhealthy coping mechanisms, child abuse/abuse in general, brief mention of suicidal ideation (one sentence), brief implied police violence. More details in end notes for those who need more information or may need to skip the chapter. 
> 
> If you think any additional warnings should be added, or if the warnings should be done differently, please feel free to let me know! (Done the way they are so people who want to avoid spoilers can do so, while those who may need more detailed warnings also have easy access to them. Summary there for those who decide they shouldn't read the chapter, but still want to follow the story).

Many of Sylvain’s memories are fogged by alcohol. He had his first drink when he was—thirteen? Fourteen? He doesn’t remember, but it was a lot sooner than it should have been. He wasn’t too fond of it at first—most drinks he tried tasted like absolute _shit._ But then he figured out it could make him numb for a while. And, well, he’d suffered far worse than a few bad-tasting drinks.

Drinking away his problems was easier than dealing with them. Miklan beat the shit out of him again? Enough beers and he’d forget what pain is. Blew up another relationship or got kicked out of someone's apartment in the middle of the night? Well, if he can’t think, then he can’t feel like shit about it. His Father breathing down his neck? Stress of maintaining top grades, of “laying the proper foundation for his future”? Managed to piss off his friends yet again? Hit with a bad depression episode? Out came the alcohol, and away went his problems (until he sobered up, at least).

The brunt of Sylvain’s destructive tendencies were usually directed inward, with only a ripple effect hitting people who got too close. So, getting into his car at three in the morning while completely wasted was a little out of character—if only because an unconnected person could get seriously hurt. But Sylvain couldn't walk straight and may have also been hoping to wrap his car around a tree, so he wasn’t really thinking about that. Most of what he remembers thinking that night is _“This is it. This is going to be the night my Father finally kills me,”_ when he briefly came to in the back of a cop car. His shoulder felt like it had been wrenched out of place, his mouth tasted like blood, and there was almost definitely gravel stuck to his face. But whatever, he was too drunk to care.

His Father picked him up at the crack of dawn. By then, Sylvain had sobered up a little, but he felt even worse than he did a few hours ago. His head was pounding, he was one sudden movement from vomiting, his shoulder and the side of his face throbbed, and he badly needed to drink something non-alcoholic. And then maybe some alcohol, too.

Sylvain really was sure he was going to die when an officer unlocked the holding cell, his Father standing beside him. Sylvain raised his hand in greeting as he stood up, but his Father was still as a stone. 

Sylvain was released with a warning—the Gautier family had a lot of influence—and was then marched to his Father’s car with a hand wrapped tightly around his arm. He was shoved into the back seat with a hand on the back of his head, not terribly unlike the night before. 

The drive home was absolutely silent. The tension in the car was so thick it was suffocating. His Father was silent as Sylvain’s incoming grave, gripping the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turned white. Sylvain himself hardly dared to breathe, lest he set him off before they even got home. His Father hadn’t turned on the radio, either, and Sylvain wasn’t sure if this was better or worse than listening to his Father’s conservative politics for the whole ride.

His Father had the child locks set on the car, and having to be let out was far too reminiscent of arriving at the station the night before. Sylvain was marched up the walkway the same way he’d been marched to the car, and practically shoved through the front door and into the living room. Miklan was on the couch playing video games when they arrived. The first time their Father spoke was to snap at his older son to leave. Miklan’s gaze flicked between their Father and Sylvain, before he got up with a groan that was closer to a growl. He purposely bumped Sylvain on his way past and feigned a punch at him, barking out a laugh when the younger man flinched. Their Father snapped at him again to get out and Miklan made his escape.

His Father pointed at the couch and Sylvain quickly sat. His Father stood in front of him, arms crossed over his chest, looking down his nose at his son like he was a piece of equipment that had broken too soon and was deciding if he was even worth repairing.

It felt to Sylvain like they stared at each other for hours, but it likely wasn’t even a minute. Sylvain cracked first, he always did, hanging his head and looking at the hardwood floor. “I’m sorry.”

“What were you _thinking,”_ his Father growled. 

“I—”

“You _weren’t,_ I bet,” he snapped. “You never _think,_ Sylvain.”

He started going on about how someone else could have been hurt, about how he could have wrecked the car and cost them thousands in repairs and insurance or even getting a new one. On and on about how the future of the family, of the company, or the “Gautier legacy” rested on Sylvain, and how was he supposed to fulfill that if he was dead or in prison? 

Not once did he say anything about Sylvain’s safety, for Sylvain’s sake alone. Or Sylvain is pretty sure he didn’t. He started dissociating about a minute into getting screamed at. Which worked for the most part—he found out very early on that when dealing with his family, it would be over a lot faster if he just rolled over and let whatever was going to happen, happen.

By the time he was himself again he was upstairs in his room, buried under a mound of blankets and pillows. The weight and accompanying darkness were comforting and helped pull him out of his own head. The other side of his face stung now, but all things considered, it could have been worse.

He hid in his cocoon of darkness a while longer, before deciding he needed something to distract himself. He checked his mini fridge for a drink, only to find it empty. He debated sneaking down to the kitchen, but found his bedroom door locked from the outside. A little over twenty years old and he was grounded like a damn teenager (although, to be fair, he was arrested for underage drinking and DUI). He sighed, not surprised in the slightest, grabbed his phone, and retreated back into his cocoon for the rest of the night. 

**~*~**

Sylvain is in his apartment, trying to stay out of his own head while he waits for Claude. He hasn’t had a drink in almost three months, and he’s looking to keep it that way.

He has a sinking feeling that sobriety will be a lot harder after today.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Hope you're all staying safe and healthy! Remember to wash your hands, wear a mask in public, and take breaks from social media if you need to.  
> (Content warnings below)
> 
> Alcoholism/Alcohol Abuse: The entire chapter is about Sylvain's alcoholism. Underage drinking, drinking to cope, and drunk driving are all mentioned.
> 
> Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms: See above. 
> 
> Child Abuse/Abuse in General: Miklan's abuse of Sylvain is mentioned, but not in graphic detail. There is a brief moment where Miklan harasses Sylvain (Skip the paragraph that starts with "His Father had the child locks set on the car").  
> Additionally, Sylvain's unhealthy relationship with his dad is depicted. Warnings for fear of a parental figure, manhandling, controlling behavior, and one sentence implying that Sylvain's dad hit him. 
> 
> Suicidal Ideation: A one-sentence mention of Sylvain thinking about crashing his car (Skip the paragraph that begins with "the brunt of Sylvain's destructive tenancies").
> 
> Police Violence: Sylvain is arrested for drunk driving. While no violence is depicted directly, it is implied that Sylvain was roughed up while being arrested.
> 
> Short chapter summary: Sylvain began drinking in his early teenage years as a way to cope with his family's abuse and his other bad coping mechanisms. A short scene depicts him getting arrested for drunk driving and underage drinking. His dad uses his money/influence to get Sylvain out of trouble and drives him home. Sylvain dissociates while his dad yells at him before he retreats to his room. Sylvain considers drinking, only to find his bedroom door locked from the outside.  
> The break takes place back in the present. Sylvain has been sober for almost three months, and worries that he may end up relapsing after running into his old friends.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on twitter: https://twitter.com/fe3hfanatic?s=09


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